Lavish Love

"She put in all she had," was God's response to the widow placing her two bits into the treasury. (Mark 12:44) And God would ask me to pour out my life . . . my time, my expenses, my energy, into love of others.  Lavishly love, giving all that I have.  A love which does not require a response, a love which does not make demands or force.  A love that does not abandon those under my care when they are scattered.

I'm reminded at how fragile is my ego and how deceitful is my heart.  When I'm rattled or when things do not turn out as I think they should, discouragement sets in.  Love does not retaliate when hurt . . . but it does hurt.  However, that hurt is often because my own image was wounded rather than really caring about the welfare of others. It is such a fine line easily crossed.

I've been at the end of myself the last few days and weeks, but it is a good place to be.  The nearness of God has been the exchange, and I would not trade it for anything.  His Word has been so very active in my life, piercing deeply into my soul.  My God is not dead, but is surely alive, living on the inside. What could possibly be better than that?

As I've been studying the book of Esther I've been so encouraged, seeing some things I never saw before and perhaps most importantly, they are applicable to my life, now, today . . . the very words of God to my heart for my present situation.

Is my life going great right now?  No, in fact I've just experienced some setbacks and doubts.  I've wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits.  But life is good because my relationship with God is good..
. . .growing.

And when it comes down to it, isn't that the main thing?  All God requires of me is to live justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him. (Micah 6:8)   How others respond, the results, they are up to God, not me because it does not depend on me.  Sometimes I think it does.  My ego would want to think that.  But God is working on hearts even if they do not fit my formula for how that should happen.  It is His business. 

You may have noticed that I didn't get my Friday post out this week.  This is the fourth post I've tried to write and I think I've finally gotten the right one.  As I pour out my life I'm reminded of the One who gave His life for me, and how many times I rejected His love before responding to Him.  If my Savior so gave, should I give any less?

Sandy Feet

Seems I've been hanging out in the sand lately.  Scratchy, grainy, cactus infested sand.  When it gets in your shoes it can cause painful blistering . . . an irritating agitation every time you walk.  My niece is burying her youngest son this week, a baby of only 20 weeks gestation.  You would think it would prompt me to speak something kind, tender, or even to remain silent in sympathetic empathy.  Instead I misunderstood, assumed, and lashed out with my words like a bulldozer plowing ahead leaving prickles in my wake.  Must I always be like sandpaper in people's lives?  It is a miserable life.

Yesterday my family and I went to the desert to watch the airshow.  It's free, it's fun, and in some ways an even better seat than within the gates of the airport.  We drive out with our four wheel drive in gear and join countless others doing the same thing.  There's a sense of comradery with total strangers because we are here for one purpose . . . to watch the blue angels fly. 

Kids mess around in the dirt, dust blows when yet another vehicle arrives joining our ranks, and adults chit chat with one another.  But when those blue angels fly, all else stops while eyes look upward and outward.  Such power, precision, and wonder is rare.  Us common folk, we watch with awe . . . amazed, thrilled, and proud that these jets are on our side. 

My niece is like an eagle, flying the skies, undaunted by the gravity pulling against her.  This is not the first son she has buried.  The rest of us are hushed, thinking we would crumple under such pressure.  We know it is the presence of God within her, upholding her that gives her strength.  We watch and the sand of the desert is forgotten momentarily.  How we long to fly!  But lately I've felt it has been rather impossible.  The reality of my guilt keeps me grounded in burning sand. 

I spoke of false guilt in my last post.  This time I speak of real guilt.  I'm seeking to get it right, to have a clean slate.  I want to start over.  Maybe there is still hope that I might take to the skies.  I have to admit that last night I felt low, broken, and wondered why God keeps me on this earth if I'm only sand in the eyes of others. 

But then this morning my pastor gave an illustration about ducks.  I was reminded that it is possible to fly.  Yes, this duck can fly.  I can even be an eagle.  So what am I doing waddling through sand?  It's time to give what I have, no matter how small it might be, and God sized power will project me forward to the heights of heaven.

 

Doo Doo

Do you ever feel burdened by a pile of doo doo?   Do this and do that in order to be a good Christian.  Do, do, do.  The expectations never end.  I must have a clean and organized house, I must maintain a perfect body, I must look stylish, I must be the best home teacher, my children must turn out right, I must have perfect relationships with my friends, I must have friends, I must be hip with the latest technology and be adept at using it.  All a bunch of doo doo.

Oh, it doesn't end there.  Far from it!  I must fight for breast cancer, for the unborn, for the starving children, and for the widow next door. I must care for the single mom, must reach out to my neighbors, and adopt a child.  I must keep in touch with my extended families, volunteer in my child's classroom, buy Christmas presents and remember birthdays.  I must not own too much stuff, must drive the right car, recycle, and live in the right neighborhood.

Tsk, tsk

Wait...hold on a minute... is this a cage I'm in?

Could I have a little less doo doo please?  I'm feeling in need of a shovel and a bath about now.  Jesus rebuked the religious leaders of His day for placing heavy burdens on people which they themselves could not even bear.  Burdens of guilt and expectations. Yet at the same time Jesus tells us that His yoke is easy and His burden is light. (Matt. 11:28,29) Ahh, take a whiff of that pure refreshing air.  I don't have to do all that stuff to be accepted by God.  He's not angry with me if I don't keep all the bases covered.

Is that to say those things are unimportant?  No, but it does mean that we share the load.  Our yoke is tailor made for us.  God knows what burdens our hearts, but we do not bear it alone.  Jesus Himself carries our burdens with us.

Yet we cannot place our tailor made yoke on someone else because it simply will not fit.  Each must follow his passion.  This is one reason we have the church.  There are so many differing facets of outreach and ways to serve that we cannot by ourselves fill every need.  But as each is drawn to a specific area the body as a whole can meet numerous needs.

Where are those green pastures and still waters?

So don't throw your doo doo over at me.  That doesn't get the barn clean.  But working beside each other certainly can 'cause God's right there with us, spray nozzle in hand, hosing the place down, every inch of it.   He's got it covered. 

(Many of these thoughts first came to me from my pastor several weeks ago, but have come home in recent days.) 

Grandma Speaks

Only a few weeks ago I was at the Michigan 400 Speedway with a quarter of a million fans.  I have to say, it was an experience of a life time!

 At one point a tight group of cars meshed together, catapulting Mark Martin's car down pit lane out of control.  It was headed directly towards an opening in the guard rail exposing all the crews.  My heart rushed to my throat as it seemed immanent death awaited.  And this was all happening right in front of us!  But the car caught the corner of the guard rail just in time which prevented the loss of any lives. Whew!  It might be entertainment on TV, but in real life, unnerving.

I tell you this story because I have to admit, I've been guilty of seeking the thrill of tragedy . . . watching Nascar for the excitement of the crashes.  But it reminds me of how sensationalism so often drives us. 

I've been reading Shadow of His Hand by Wendy Lawton to my girls and feeling like a total wimp.  It is the story of a Jewish girl's struggle through the Holocaust.  All of a sudden the trials in my life seem very pampered and insignificant.   

I wonder, how did women of past generations cope with the car crashes in their lives?  They didn't have social networking, cell phones, or even neighbors close by to share daily events with.  Their difficulties were not announced to the world as a sensation.

As I think of my Grandma Shetler I'm reminded of her divorce, a scandal in those days, and the whisperings she must have suffered behind neighborhood fences.  I'm reminded of the resolute determination she displayed in raising all 11 of her children as a single mom, training them to love and fear God . . . without drawing the attention inward.

I recently received a booklet composed by my Dad's four sisters of the songs their mother sang to them as children.  I feel so privileged to receive a copy and to be reminded of my Grandmother's testimony.  Simple, but powerful.  She lived a statement I've heard from my pastor, "The world does not need more of me, they need more of God."  If the hard things in life which I suffer are put on a pedestal and dramatized the focus suddenly shifts from God to me.

Look at me, see how hard my life is, look what I must go through, so often dominates the stage of our lives.

What message am I conveying to the watching world when they see me undergo difficulties?  Do I live as a person who has no hope, who has lost perspective, and who has an aloof God spinning out of control? 

Most of the songs in my Grandma's book are lullaby's for very young children.  We often deem children this age as unimportant. . . insignificant.  Yet my four aunt's remember those lullaby's.  My Grandma didn't spill her troubles to the world, she simply did what needed to be done   . . . point her children to Jesus.  Her trial paled compared to her purpose. This is not to diminish the difficulties we experience, nor to take away the pain.  It is only to place them in their proper place, in the background rather than the foreground.

(artwork by Lois Decker)

We each have a history of experiences which make up our story.  These experiences make us real and able to relate.  And when we respond correctly to them, it can cause great growth in our lives bringing glory to God.  But it can also be wasted on resistance or self glorification.

I have experienced very little pain compared to most, so who am I to speak of it?  But one thing I know with certainty.  God is in control, He does not abandon His own, He is forever good, He will see that justice is met, and our greatest joy is yet to come . . . eternity in the very presence of God . . . without a speck of evil. 

I was a young girl when my Grandma Shetler passed away.  It was the first funeral I ever remember experiencing.  I didn't know her very well, but her legacy of faith lives on, even in me, because she kept Jesus in the spotlight.   
Thank you for Grandma's Songs for Little Ones,  Aunts Lavern, Helen, Ruth, and Lois.  I will treasure it always.  And thanks to my Dad who led me into the kingdom of heaven by lifting high the name of Jesus. 

Breathe

Panic streams through my body.  My breath feels choked.  I MUST get out . . . now.  Ahead of me an entourage of young people block the exit.  Behind me, a tall hefty man is lodged between two sheer rock faces, blocking the entrance.  Turned sideways to make himself smaller, he inhales.  His chest heaves inward and upward providing just enough give to scuffle into the next pocket of space.

(My husband)

 I have been in these particular crevices before, the Escalante Canyons near the Lake Powell region.   The rock walls, high and narrow, shoot straight up, nearly fifty feet or more with only a narrow passageway between.  Once inside there are no alternate routes.  The canyons are mysterious and  gloriously wild.  When the sun hits them at just the right angle, their beauty takes your breath away.   And normally I love exploring them. 

My friend eventually made it out, but not without inhaling his way through the tight points.  Ever since the birth of my oldest daughter, the breath of life touches a chord somewhere deep inside me.  (see May Day)  Now whenever I witness a resuscitation elsewhere, such as in a movie, it causes me to choke up with emotion. 

All the urgency of the soul breaks to the surface in that one cry, "Breathe!"
The call echoes through the subconscious . . .
                           reaching . . .
                                   searching . . .
                                             pulling . . .
and then the wait . . .

the hope of connection, of drawing the dying back to the reality of earth. 

The pressure of the atmosphere against the lungs is what forces us to take our next breath.  Likewise, as the intensity of life presses down on us, God is calling, "Breathe!"   Prayer is my breath.  I pour out my heart to God and listen for His voice . . . inhale, exhale . . . praying without ceasing.  

(My two oldest children, Tyler and Heather, now in college)

My heart has been downcast as of late.  Roots and wings are a part of life, but the wing part is giving me sadness.  And in the long nights, when sleep evades, magnifying the loneliness, the empty spaces shout what once was . . . laughter, voices, theological discussions, glow of the light from their room . . . their presence.





It is then that I hear God's urgent cry, "Breathe, my child . . . pray!" 
                  God reaches . . .
                             searches . . .
                                  pulls . . .
and then waits . . .

the hope of connection with my heart,
of enfolding me into His presence.

Through the loneliness, God is trying to tell me something, but so often I am not listening.  He longs to draw near, to whisper sweet nothings in my ear as my beloved, but I will not have it.  Because I refuse to simply breathe . . . reach toward Him . . . pray.

Rocks do not give, in some ways much like my circumstances which are set to stay awhile.  When their walls engulf me and I panic with claustrophobia, it is then most crucial that I consciously turn to my Heavenly Father and simply cry out to Him in prayer.  Inhale. . . the only way I can find my way through, casting all my care upon Him for He cares for me. (1st Pet. 5:7)

Yes, Lord Jesus, I look to You.  Fill these empty spaces wandering around the house, suffocating, pressing in at the table, in the basement, at the kitchen sink, even in the laundry room.  Thank you for two children yet at home.  Don't let me be distracted from growing their roots deep and strong in You.

Family Matters

One of the requirements for being a dentist must be the gift of gab.  Imprisoned by a chair, my dentist's conversation with his assistant held my attention, causing three hours to pass quickly.  I'm convinced the dialogue was to distract me from discomfort. 

Yet as much as I was interested in the conversation it frustrated me.  With my mouth full of clamps, drills, cotton, and what have you, I could not contribute, only listen.  Topics ranging from the untimely death of a mom, to abortion, to the republican convention, to contraceptives, to sports, and to obsession with athletes were all discussed.  Whew!  Now that's a mouthful! 

With the above topics you can see why I was dying to say a few words here and there.  But all I could muster was a few grunts indicating whether I felt any pain and if I was doing okay.  However, my mind was thinking of all the perfect things to say if only I could talk. 

As I bemoaned my incapacity to speak I thought of the blogging world.  We are all so eager to let our voices be heard, to somehow make an impact.  But how eager are we to listen?  And perhaps this is one reason the social network is so attractive, because there we can talk all we want but we don't have to listen.  It appeals to our selfish nature . . . that what we have to say is all important . . . one sided conversations.  I've often been guilty of this . . . the gratification of speaking my mind.   

For these reasons I've been wondering about the point of blogging.  It seems that writing a post can keep me from doing the real writing God has directed me to do.  Yet, I started this blog out of obedience to God, a mountain which loomed frightening before me.  In fact I still struggle with fears whenever I click the publish button.  

The internet is certainly not lacking for gifted bloggers able to communicate direct to the heart.  It seems that others have already said what needs saying.   On top of that there is great potential for offense because with many words sin abounds.  So why blog?

I continue out of obedience, but also in the hope that somehow someone will benefit from the testimony of my life.  As each life is unique, perhaps my story resonates with some like none other can.   But in order to balance the rest of my life with blogging, I've decided to aim for a post once a week, every Friday.  Maybe you can find time to read it over coffee Saturday morning or in the wee hours of the night, but I trust it will be uplifting. 

I've decided to check my motives for each post.  I seek to encourage but also to challenge, not with a lot of fluff, but with transparent reality.  My goal is to be concise and short.  I know I'm far from that goal at present!  But thanks for following along anyway as I struggle to learn writing skills.  I will try not to preach, scold, or brag, although I know I've been guilty of all three in the past.  Most of all, I hope to make this blog worth your read. 

I would graciously ask that you please take a moment to sign in as a member.  I admit that signing up as a follower will do nothing for you, but much for me.  It lets me know you are there, but mostly builds a platform for the day when I may seek to publish.  But no publisher will take me seriously unless they see I have followers.

Thanks for sticking with me through my many ramblings.  You are a great encouragement to me!

Interruptions

'We're not plannin' it, we're just doin' it', has become my new motto.  Well, not really, but seriously, it has become rather convicting for me as of late.   I like to have plans made ahead of time, goals spelled out, and schedules in order.  But I've realized that in my planning I leave little room for faith.  When all is under my control then it becomes all about me and what I want. 

I've been putting some things on hold in my life until my writing project is done.  It still isn't finished, but in the meantime a window of opportunity is slipping by.  I know God wants me to reach out to those He has placed in my life right now, even if it means I must move forward with unfinished work, unknowns, and sketchy plans. 

Normally I become rather irritable when my plans are interrupted, but lately my eyes have been opened to see the interruption as God's specific direction.  Rather than resisting change, I'm seeking to be more flexible and sensitive to where God might be leading me.  I've recently had an opportunity slammed shut in my face and in hindsight, see that God used it to humble me.  Yet at the same time I'm so very excited because God's 'no' confirmed a definite 'yes' in another direction.  

I don't know what God is up to, but I do know that He has given me a renewed passion to go for His plan as opposed to mine, even if I feel unprepared for the task.  As I teach a group of high school girls it is not my hard labored notes, rewrites from an editor's wisdom, or the specific study guide I had just spent years writing that we will be using.  No, it is something new, a study on Esther rather than Ruth.  With the Bible as our text and the unwavering assurance that this is God's plan I move forward in faith resting in His sovereign control.  I will still be writing on my "old" project, but have no idea what God has in store for this interruption to my plans. 

Ann Voscamp says it so well on her blog, A Holy Experience, "When you're waiting for an answer and it seems like life is silent, God is actually calling."  Sometimes in all my trying and all my plans I lose sight of God's working right in front of me.   I'm thrilled to be included in what God is doing, not plannin' it, just doin' it!  Plain and simple.  I guess it boils down to obedience. 

All of my ambitions, hopes, and plans, I surrender these into His hands...